Buttercup Page 5

  “It’ll have to wait until the tent shows close. Tiny won’t see me until they done.”

  “How long?”

  “Another few hours. Not long.” She stepped around him, counting the money he gave her. She put the bills under the lining of the music box. “You from ‘round here?” she asked.

  “Not far from here,” he said.

  “I from the carnival. Was born in the carnival and will die in the carnival. That makes me from everywhere.”

  Silvio watched as the zipper on her dress eased down. The soggy fabric dropped from her body in one discarded heap. She wore nothing but her stockings underneath. The kerosene lantern in the tent wasn’t lit, but the outside carnival lights gave him some view of her, different than when she was on stage. There was a ripe innocence to her nudity. Something he’d never really seen in another girl. The humid air was cooler thanks to the rain. Her nipples peaked in response. Her breasts were perfect in symmetry and darkly coated, her nipples the darkest. He’d never been with a colored woman. He’d seen pretty ones before but never been with them. Seeing her now from the stage, he found the girl beneath and something he couldn’t quite name stirred in him. Was she a whore? Her eyes said no. She was a hooch dancer and sometimes that was different—sometimes. He had worked it out the moment she blew him the kiss. This was a sure way to get his self and Jelly out of a pinch, so he told Jelly to hang back, give him time to work it through. He took the money Jelly had and planned to sweet talk her and get her to barter the deal.

  Now?

  “You know why I plan to stay a carnie?” she asked, and lifted her leg. Her foot rested on the only chair in the tent. Her thigh covered her pussy from his view. So instead, his eyes latched on to her fingers that worked down the top trim of her stocking.

  “No, why?”

  “Cause here we all free. Tiny is the boss, a respected man, even though he three feet tall. Janice has a boyfriend who doesn’t care about her beard. Madame Danique can play with her snakes, worship her snakes, and not get burned or hanged. Lady Joyce is a star again.” She looked over at him, rolling down the stocking, then switching to the other leg. “And a colored gal can get five dollars in a night for showing a little skin.”

  “You’re quite something, Buttercup.”

  “Am I?”

  Silvio stopped directly in front of her. She turned to face him as if standing there nude meant nothing. It meant something all right. He was possessed with the urge to show her what. He reached out in the dark and traced his fingers from her eyebrow to her jaw.

  “Yes.” His voice was as soothing and sensual as his touch.

  A charge went through the pads of his finger from contact. It scorched a shivery yearning path that warmed her interior and his. He inclined his head and she didn’t even blink. Instead of capturing those full ruby red lips, he rubbed his cheek against hers.

  “I did like the show,” he whispered in her ear. He took the time to inhale the floral natural scents that permeated off her skin. His face drew away slowly, but remaining close, their eyes locked. He’d had girls before in the back of trucks or out in cornfields. Not much to it. Somehow, she inspired him. So he kissed her, a pressing of their lips that suddenly released the last remnants of his inhibitions and hers. Then he drew away.

  Though the available light was low, Della could see the flex of sinews in his strong neck and see his eyelids grow heavy with desire. In the room’s muted glow, the lines in his face were set in relief from cheek to jawbone. His hands freely roamed her body, both coming up to caress her beasts. This wasn’t like the secret sex she had before. He touched her in ways she touched herself when alone. And he was a tough guy. She could tell. She liked it. She could feel the power radiating from him as it dragged at her breathing. Heat unfurled deep at her core and radiated through her pelvis to the bone.

  “You like that?” he asked with a sly smile.

  What had given her away? The ways she panted or the flutter of her lashes. She wasn’t sure. Whatever it was ignited a fierce storm of sensations between her thighs. “Un huh...”

  “You do. Don’t you?”

  He stroked her bottom, hips, and thighs. It was giving her fever.

  “That kiss. I’m not sure it’s the best we can do,” he said.

  Her eyes flipped opened. She looked at him, really looked at him. He was beautiful to be a man-boy. His brows weren’t bushy like Tiny’s, and his skin wasn’t pale and pasty like most white boys she’d seen. It was golden smooth over a strong jaw. But there was a hint of rebel in his stance. He didn’t walk the line like most townie white men she knew. The line of predictable meanness and crude superiority made her want to take them for every penny shoved down in their dirt filled pockets. He chose to be different. But why? What was his angle? She’d let him stick it in for the fin and be done. Except these touches, these kisses. Where did it all lead?

  He slipped a hand under her wet tangles, cupping her nape. She contemplated his mouth. “I knew I could’ve done better,” she breathed. "Who says I wanted too?”

  “I say you do.” He bought his lips down on hers. It was no tepid kiss. It was more like a searing demand, his lips confident and assured. Her heart surged at the lazy dance his tongue gave when it swept over hers. The forbidden act was the most deliciously sinful one she’d ever indulged in. Della never considered kissing a man, and none ever kissed her. Her mouth thirsted for more. She opened her eyes to stare at him through the kiss, trying to understand his mastery. But the feeling of feminine submission that his tongue play drove through her body, weakened her muscles, clouded her thought, and whispered in her head to let go. So she did. Stepping toward him instead of back, she grew bold in her unexplained desires, allowing his darting tongue to love hers. Aroused, she gave herself up to its sizzling delights. Those delights threaded from her head to the bottom of her feet. She felt anew, and at her very center moisture gathered between her legs as her body temperature rose. His hands went firm to her waist. His fingers dug deep. He drew her to him.

  Della’s hands flew up to his shoulders and her mouth opened wider. Was he smiling as she visibly trembled? Yes, he was. He deepened the kiss, dissolving her objections. This she allowed. She liked kissing, especially like this. This kind of kiss was what she’d catch Tiny and Joyce doing when they thought she was asleep on Joyce’s floor as a young’un. This was a love kiss, from a strange moonshine running man-boy. She wanted more. Her thoughts became a scrambled mess. I want him to touch it. I hope he touches it. I need to feel his hands and tongue on it. Her mind repeated the silent wish over and over. So she touched him instead. He didn’t even flinch at her action. But her hand froze in surprise at his firm hardness. Intimidated, she dropped it away.

  Silvio walked her back to the cot she always laid on alone. But he never broke the kiss. He furthered the seduction with his mouth, lips, tongue, and tiny bites too. Della gasped deep breaths in between. He forced her down and back, her knees bending as she complied. She looked up at him in the darkness, breathless. He said he was twenty or so, but she guessed him no more than 18 like her. His damp hair curled on his brow. His eyes, however, were different. The lustful luminous and desire had darkened the blues, making them akin to midnight.

  Della shivered. She wasn’t afraid, not really. She’d done it before, or thought she had. She let a townie boy stick it in because she was curious, bored, and possibly both. But that wasn’t what she saw in his eyes. He wanted something from her that she wasn’t exactly sure how to give. She wouldn’t tell him though. She’d seen Lady Joyce with Townies and Tiny too, hearing her squeals and moans. She had seen her bounce her big ass on Tiny until he disappeared under her, save for his little feet. What more was there to it than that?

  He shed his wet clothes, pulling down his suspenders, dropping his knickers, and undoing and casting aside his shirt. Parting her legs, she lay perfectly still and waited. He was on her in an instant. His mouth again found her neck. He rained hot needy kisses down her throat, nuzz
ling his nose in close. First kisses, then his tongue. He drew his tongue over her flesh and down to her breasts. Most of all, he seemed fascinated with her breasts. Thank you, Lordie!

  Della moaned. Her head rolled back, and she relished the dangerously erotic flicking of his tongue. Painfully aroused, her nipples strained for attention and the comfort a good sucking would bring. He did, and she worked her burning desire up into his pelvis, knees dropping further apart. His flesh to her flesh with his mouth on her wasn't enough. She wanted more. She could feel the press of his cock. It so urgently pressed hard to the juncture between her thighs for entry, missing her wet opening in his haste. He grunted, locked his jaw, and put a hump in his back as he lifted off her to get the right angle for a strike. The invasion of his thick member caused her chest to heave. Della’s eyes flew open. Had she not been with a boy before, would she be as shocked by the tight pressure? This was different. He was wider than he was long, and that warm thickness stretched her beyond her imaginings. He shot his pelvis forward, and she moaned but wound her hips in response. He sank in to the hilt. A shudder ripped through them both. Silvio grunted, his speech stunted, but his hot mumblings were felt against her neck.

  “Are you a virgin?” he gasped.

  Should she lie? The question tore at her more than it should. Because in that moment she felt as one. She understood why Joyce never let her be ‘one of the girls’ and hated the fact that she rebelled. Before she could speak, he settled on the answer for himself and kissed her ever so gently between her brows. “I’ll be gentle,” he said, moving slowly. She stretched from his entry and adjusted. The pain dissolved into warm tingles. Her toes curled. Passion crawled through her body before she could rejoin the mating dance.

  “Do me,” Della said, growing impatient, moving beneath him. He was too tender and her body begged to be owned by him. There was more. She could tell, and she was desperate for it. She gyrated her hips and felt him sink warmly inside her, deeper than any cock had ever reached. Silvio looked down at her and something sparked between them, a new understanding. This was something that belonged to them, binding them. His thrusts became more demanding. He pumped his hips and went in and out with controlled energy. The more he gave the more she took. Tender cries escaped her throat. He dropped on her, holding to both edges of the cot, his cock now jerking violently for release. She hooked her legs around his waist and forced his strikes to go deeper.

  “Fuck!” he grunted. He must have thought he’d bottomed out, but she took him all in.

  “Ugh, yeah...yeah,” Silvio panted. He pumped hard and fast, violently, until the cot creaked and collapsed underneath them. Both of them gasped. His head shot up in concern, but Della giggled. She bucked her hips up at him for him to continue. He liked that. She could tell. He worked his clenched buttocks in a frenzied circular motion then returned to his pump action, which made him escape her hole with a wet plop. He smiled and she rolled him over, seizing the moment to get on top. It was instinctual.

  He blinked up at her, shocked by her control. Should she tell him riding his cock would be her first? Did it matter to him that all of it was truly her first? Even in the dark, she saw his heavy gaze going through her. There were no words. This was not to be explained. It just was. Della took his hands and put them to her breasts for him to continue to stroke and please her nipples. She eased down on him, taking inch by inch into her achy channel. Seated, she felt him warmly fill her inside. She bucked her hips front to back; the friction caused the convulsing of his penis, or so she thought. It moved so wondrously within her. Della pressed her hands to his chest, flat, then got to her feet but remained low to keep him inside. Now she could rise up and down on his still erect cock with ease. He groaned and thrashed to have her so open. She giggled. He released her breasts and grabbed the tops of her knees to control the rise and fall. But she had control. Then he pinched her turgid clitoris and she lost control. She fell over on him shaking all over. Her face pressed to his sweaty chest, her hips working back and forth.

  “My beautiful Buttercup, aah...hell, doll. I think I’m in love.”

  With one final mating thrust, he gripped her buttocks tight and pumped until his seed exploded within what should have been her forbidden paradise. The universe was a flare of white-hot flames and heat radiated from her skin. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as he held her through her very first climax. The friction of his pubes on her clitoris sent shockwaves of pleasure that mixed with the currents of desire sweeping through her system. Della pressed her face to his chest to stile her cries of pleasure. Then she shuddered through the last of the most intensely felt orgasm she’d ever known in her meager life.

  There was silence except for their heavy breathing and the dings and calls of the carnival. Nothing stirred. A different kind of silence settled between them. What happened in the tent wasn’t something he had planned for. But that had always been his life. He never went the way of others. Still she was a surprise. He could lay with her for an eternity. It felt so right. He’d never shared feelings, sex or otherwise, with anyone. And now this strange bird flew into his life. How was that possible? Della lifted, and he groaned over their sticky parting. But she dropped on his side, keeping the plush warmth of her body close. He made room to keep her near the cot and not on the moist earth, though she had spread out rugs and blankets to cover most of it so the tent felt truly contained.

  “Sil, you a stick-up man too?”

  Silvio frowned. “What?”

  Della reached behind her and pulled out the gun. When he tossed his knickers, it fell out. She handed it to him. “I wouldn’t let Tiny see it,” she chuckled. Silvio nodded, securing it over his pants. He felt her eyes on him. When he looked back, he saw her staring down at him. Her wild hair had drawn up like a sponge. Still it was a dark cloud surrounding her face. She rested her chin in her palm. He was right about her beauty. It was through and through. Her soul possibly too.

  “Where your people from?” she asked in that singsong voice of hers.

  It was a strange question. He frowned not understanding at first. So he replied, “Kentucky.”

  She giggled, “No silly. That’s where they at. Where you from? I think you’re from Camelot.”

  “Camel who?” he gave a baffled blink.

  “I read, you know. Tiny gets me all kinds of books. I read about King Arthur. He from Camelot. So is his knights. Kind-of think it’s where the good white people come from. Your people are from there I’m willin’ to wager. You probably don’t even know it.”

  Silvio rubbed his brow at her logic. One minute she was wise and mysterious. The next she was like a child. She grinned. Her face loomed in close, her wide eyes blinking for a response. “No, doll, not from that place. My Pa is a miner in Hollow Creek and Ma dead and buried after childbirth. I’m from two counties west of here. That’s all.”

  “But we all from somewhere, Sil. Somewhere is the beginnin’. This here is just middle stuff?”

  “Is that so? Then where you from?”

  “Africa, silly! Lone Wolf said he knows my tribe. I might go back one day to see them too when I become rich or famous like Lady Joyce. My ma and her Magic Man are there too. I think.”

  “You’re the strangest girl I’ve ever met.”

  “We should get dressed. There are times when they come in to check on me. You can’t stay here. Gotta hide you.”

  Silvio rolled on top of her pushing her thighs apart with his, her sticky center rubbing his pelvis, his penis growing harder by the minute. “You make it bad for me, doll. Its hard to want to leave.”

  “Me?”

  “Any other girl in here?” he chuckled.

  “You just sayin’ that cause we done the pokie.”

  “I got news for you. I say what I mean. You different, see. And I like that. I’m different too.”

  “How you different?” Della frowned.

  “I’ma be big one day. Real big. Got plans, see... and when I do, I’m coming for you. I figure I n
eed a girl like you. Gonna take you with me.”

  Della laughed. She pushed at his shoulders and laughed. Silvio didn’t welcome laughter. It stung. She was a colored girl in a carnival. Here he was making an offer after just meeting her, an offer that he ain’t made to no woman. Then here goes this one having a laugh at it. “I mean it. See that five dollars I gave you. That’s the beginning, doll. I told you before. Don’t laugh at me. I don’t like it!” he grabbed her throat. Not hard, but to emphasize his point. He was a man and not a boy. She should show him some respect.

  “What you gon’ do with a colored?” she asked, not the least bothered by the way his fingers circled her neck. In fact, the light of fearlessness in her eyes unnerved him. She mocked him with her smirk. “What you think? I’ma go with you and your people gonna welcome me in? We gonna have a bunch of yella babies and...”

  “When I become a legend, so will you.” He released her throat to stroke the side of her face for forgiveness. “What I do and where I go, it won’t matter. Never will.”

  “But what them important people you work for think? A colored girl in tow? Think they respect you then?”

  He hesitated. She had a point. Since when did he want any girl, especially one that would just bring him scorn? The truth was he didn’t know where the promises came from, certainly not his head. Then where? Della shrugged it off as if bored with the topic. But he could tell his silence hurt her feelings. Maybe part of her wanted to be convinced that this wasn’t just some roll he gave her for pay. “You different is all. I never met anyone like you,” he said.

  “Get dressed we...” She tried to rise. Silvio pulled her back down. He was on her again. Her nervous laughter impinged his already foggy brain. He ignored it when she parted her thighs to receive him. He got in her smoothly this time, her body now accommodating. He preferred to continue the rest of the conversation inside her. He liked the way her eyes fluttered and how she bit down on her bottom lip when he thrust deep and withdrew slow. He gave her long strokes to prolong the pleasure, and his access to the ways she stimulated every fiber in him, groaning her name—her stage name, Buttercup.